


i've come too far to see the end now

by callunavulgari



Series: Dark Month Collection [42]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Timeline, Alternate Universe - Canon, Demons, Dragons, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“They ain't who you think they are, buoy. Don’t get attached.”</i> Or in which Dave just wants to have more time, Terezi is the dragon-person who lives in his attic, and Karkat is the very angry demon in his basement. They don't quite fight crime, but they do try valiantly for a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've come too far to see the end now

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Month, Day 17. The original summary was this: "Dave is the woobie human, Terezi is the not-so-tiny dragon person who lives in his attic and Karkat is the very angry demon who lives in his basement. Together they fight crime." However, my brain decided that it didn't want this to be any old AU, this wanted to be alpha timeline Dave in an AU where he's raising Dirk instead of him and Dirk being a century or so apart. So. There's that. It was really fun to write though! Got long on me, but so much fun to write, seriously. Oh! Also, Terezi's design isn't exactly supposed to be based off of Asuka's Demon Patrol fic, they are both dragon-esque humanoid figures, so. Yeah.

Your name is Dave Strider and you’re about to do something stupid.

The world is already going to shit, but you’re rich and famous, so you figure, why not blow a bunch of fucking money on a run-down haunted house? Dirk could care less, because he’s like eight years old and already more interested in robots than he is in his Bro.   
  
(And how weird is that really, you still have shifty-shiny memories of the game and the tick-tock slide of time under your skin, but the thing that weirds you out the most is that in this life _you_ are Bro. You are the name he called when he was scared in the middle of the night, because sure, he was a quiet baby, but toddlers still got scared. Sometimes, when you’re really, really tired you almost forget to answer back.)   
  
But it’s whatever. Fuck all the haters, if you wanna buy a haunted house ‘cause getting the shit scared out of you in the middle of the night is what gets you off, you bet you’re gonna do it snatch that puppy up and slap a bow on it.  
  
The newspapers all say that you bought it to impress one stunning, gothic-horror of a dame, Rose Lalonde. Joke’s on them, because only you, her, and the Batterwitch know that you’re actually siblings.   
  
(Not that it ever mattered when the two of you were younger, how did they _think_ that Dirk and Roxy showed up anyway? Oh well—it’s yours and Rose’s secret to keep.)  
  
You move in just after New Years. Luckily, since you’re a wealthy entrepreneur or whatever now, you don’t have a repeat of the last time you and Dirk moved. Moving from Texas to L.A. was hard enough, but the added fact that you were too broke to hire some movers, and well. You’d almost passed out hauling your couch into the truck and that wasn’t even the worst part. So this time, when you move in, by the time you and Dirk get there, everything’s already sitting all nice and neat in the foyer like little Tetris bricks, game over, someone already got the high score. The things that you’d specified are where they should be—random kitchen boxes have been dropped in the kitchen, you and Dirk’s beds, boxes, and furniture are already upstairs.  
  
You don’t mind the unpacking part so much. If you did, you probably could have hired someone to do that for you too. Having money to blow is weird as shit.  
  
Dirk’s plopped down on one of the boxes already, what looks like a cross between a cell phone and a 3DS in his hands. You shake your head and think that it’s probably better not to ask what he’s got there.  
  
“Here we are, little man,” you sigh, dropping your suitcase next to you.   
  
He doesn’t even look up.   
  
“Home sweet home.”   
  
.  
  
You’re glad that Dirk was quick to march off to his room, because he’s not there to see you flip your shit in the middle of your foyer when the Batterwitch knocks on your door, like she’s _allowed to ignore the rules_. She’s supposed to ignore you and Rose—all the way up until you manage to get your kids into the same game that broke you and your friends six ways to Sunday a lifetime ago, like this game is an endless cycle of heartache and heartbreak and _time_ , and make like a martyr and die.  
  
She gives you a sunny little smile, all teeth, peering in through the side windows, and rings the doorbell again. You don’t know what the normal humans see when they look at her, but you will never be able to look at her without seeing seven plus feet of evil, hot troll babe. She’s got all that hair of hers up in this tangled knotted bun on the top of her head, like an angry hornet’s nest. Strands of it are tangled all up in her ridiculous long horns and she’s got hot pink glasses perched on her nose and is decked out in a fucking _sundress_.  
  
“What do you want?” you hiss through the door. If she can’t hear you, tough shit. She’s ignoring all the rules you, Rose, and her have stacked up and unspoken between you and you’ve got your _kid_ upstairs—you don’t give two fucks that she could probably batter this door down before you can blink, you’ll stick with the illusion of safety.  
  
She gives you a pouty face, barbie pink painted lips screwing up into this moe expression that you don’t think you’ve ever seen outside of anime. She grins and ruins the image with her lamprey teeth. “Is that any way to greet an old friend, Davey-poo?” she coos. You can barely hear her.   
  
“You ain’t no friend of mine, sister. Now how ‘bout you get your sparkly Lisa Frank ass off my lawn and we’ll resume our playdate come judgement day. Good plan, nice talk, bye.”  
  
You start to walk away, freezing when you hear the click of the lock behind you.  
  
It’s weird, but you can almost feel it when she walks through the doors. Rose would have a word for it, this whisper-cold sweep of death the Condesce brings in with her. When you turn around, hiding your fear behind your shades, she’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed under her boobs. Her sundress is frilly and just low enough that you can see a hint of cleavage. You wonder how she keeps them from sagging—thousands of sweeps, they should be to her ankles by now.  
  
“Knight of Time,” she smirks, and you _shudder_ , remembering the last time she called you that, a lifetime ago, about an hour before Jane skewered her with her own trident.  
  
“What do you want,” you sigh, instinctively moving yourself to block the staircase. You’re in a fucking suit, bright red and eye-searing, just the way you like it, but your fingers twitch for your swords. Maybe your turntables. Possibly both.  
  
She sighs with you like she's making fun of you, shutting the door behind her and strutting in your direction, her heels click-clopping on your new floor. You hope there aren’t guts on her stilettos—it would be a shame to get blood on your floor so early on. She gets right up in your grill too, leaning in so close that you think she might be trying to kiss you. The smirk goes right back onto her face and your bowels go all tight at the sight of those teeth so close.  
  
“Don’t get your anchor all tied up in knots, Knight,” she purrs, patting you on the cheek and pinching it, like you’re _precious_ —like you’re _fucking adorable_. You remember being sixteen and terrified of her—so intent on not showing your fear that you were probably as transparent as a snowglobe. You’re still terrified of her, because she’s your impending doom—you know it, she knows it, Rose knows it.

That day isn’t today though.  
  
“You got vermin in your crib, Big Daddy. What say you I exterminate 'em for ya, save you the trouble of callin' pest control?” She gives this pretty whiplash of a smile, Jaws with lipstick on.  
  
“Think I’ll pass, actually,” you say, your mind churning. _What fucking vermin?_  
  
She shrugs, leaning down and kissing you on the cheek, her lips leaving a huge smear of tacky pink behind. You wipe at it and frown when you just manage to smear it onto your hands too.  
  
“Figured I'd offer,” she calls, already sashaying off. “Though, bit o' advice from one wealthy queen to another—”  
  
She smirks over her shoulder and you glower at her, because she’s really not as funny as she thinks she is. The switch from smiling babe in a sundress to cold tyrant is so quick that it feels like getting dunked in ice water. Gone is the slouchy, would-be sexy posture, gone are the teasing smiles and the lilting voice. She sounds every inch the empress she is when she stares you down and says, “They ain't who you think they are, _buoy_. Don’t get attached.”  
  
And then she’s gone, hips swaying as she meanders down your sidewalk, pausing beside her limo to give you a cheery wave that the paparazzi will probably have a couple things to say about later.  
  
You have no idea what the fuck just happened.  
  
You do know one thing though—you have some vermin to find.  
  
.  
  
You check the rooms first, because you can pretend you aren’t a giant wet blanket all you want, but you’ve been watching horror movies for _two_ lifetimes, and even though what you’re looking for is probably exactly where you don’t want to go, you aren’t gonna check the basement or attic until you absolutely have to.  
  
Which… is pretty soon, because there’s nothing in the rest of the rooms.   
  
When you check Dirk’s room, crawling down on your belly to look under his bed and peering into the closet, he gives you a perfectly blank look and drawls, smooth as can be for an eight year old. “Checking for monsters, Bro?”  
  
 _You scared?_ he doesn’t say, but you can see it in the twitching corners of his mouth.  
  
You laugh it off because that’s what you do, going on a rant about needing to make sure little Dirk-y’s all snug tight in his little bed, no monsters in sight.  
  
Then you’re standing outside the door leading up to the attic. It creaks open, revealing a dusty, twisty set of stairs that makes the movie lover in you want to go screaming in the other direction. Something heavy drops onto the ceiling above your head. There’s nobody in sight; you let yourself whine a little before stiffening your spine and pushing your fear back into that well-used corner of your heart.  
  
You ain’t afraid of no ghost.  
  
.  
  
The attic is straight out of every horror movie ever—slanted wood over your head, so low in places that you have to crouch down. Cobwebs, dust, random boxes; the works. You blink and carefully pull your shades away from your face, setting them on a dusty box beside you. Something slithers in the dark.  
  
“Okay,” you breathe, steeling yourself. “You’re gonna wanna show yourself, ‘cause I’ve got a bat and I know how to use it.”  
  
Something cackles.  
  
It would scare the shit out of you—should scare the shit out of you, but the thing is… You _know_ that cackle.  
  
You drop your guard a little, peering into the gloom. “Terezi?” you whisper, cautiously, edging further into the room.   
  
Something thumps behind you and you turn, just in time to see the huge crouching gargoyle pounce at you.  
  
You go down hard— _really_ hard, the things weight centered on your chest. Claws tear little pinprick holes into the t-shirt you’d changed into earlier (can't go hunting ghosts in a custom-made suit) and you wail, hitting the floor like a bag of bricks.   
  
“You smell familiar,” you hear, and it’s her voice—her red eyes gleaming at you from the dark. “But I don’t remember ever smelling such a scrumptious cherry pie—”  
  
She freezes all of a sudden, her nose (and dear god, are those her _teeth_?) shoved into the crook of your neck.   
  
“Coolkid,” she breathes, voice gone soft with memory. Her weight shifts, less crushing your ribcage, spreading out all nice and neat on your lap. You push yourself up a little with your elbows and peer at her, but it’s gloomy, and your cellphone and its shitty flashlight app went skittering off somewhere when she flung herself your way.  
  
“TZ,” you acknowledge, fighting your facial muscles. Memory is making you want to smile right now, but your brain is somewhere else entirely. “Mind tellin’ me why you’re all up and chillin’ in my attic? I mean, mi casa es su casa, but seein’ as I moved in earlier today…”   
  
You trail off, because your eyes are adjusting to the dark, and something’s wrong about her shape—there are these weird shapes against her back. “There any lights in here?” you ask, all nonchalant like. She snorts, and crawls back off of your lap. Claws click against the floor.  
  
“What use would I have of that?” she asks, but pads off somewhere anyway. Before you know it she’s yanking on a string you hadn’t noticed and there’s a warm, orangey glow filling the room. That light bulb is probably ancient.  
  
She’s older, like you. It shouldn’t be the first thing you notice, but it is. There are faint lines around her red-red eyes, around her black lips, like cracks in a statue of obsidian, the color of her skin dark as night. Must have had her last moult then.  
  
She is also, apparently, not-quite troll.

You think of the Batterwitch, cold eyes and a twisted, unsmiling mouth, telling you they aren’t who you think they are.  
  
She’s still got her horns—though they’re more like seven to eight inch long daggers instead of the jutting points that you remember. Her hair’s still black, but everything else is different. There are huge leathery wings sprouting from her back, long, but folded back. Her body’s built strangely, like it was made for walking on all fours rather than upright, and there’s a long, hefty looking dragon’s tail trailing across the floor that’s almost twice as long as her body.  
  
“Holy shit,” you say.  
  
She grins at you, all teeth.  
  
.  
  
“I don’t remember much about our game, but I… I don’t think I’m the Terezi you think I am. I’m not _her._ My timeline got doomed pretty early on. I don’t even know if any of us made it into the game, just that I died, and Vriska threw my corpse together with mom’s, and then I was waking up here.”  
  
She’s pacing on all fours in a circle around you, unblinking. There’s a frown making her faint wrinkles even more pronounced. You don’t like it. When she shrugs, her wings shudder, like they want to spread.  
  
“That’s…” Weird. Not what you expected. Not possible. Why would the game spit a doomed sprite into the new human’s universe? You have no fucking idea.  
  
You stare at her a little longer, cataloguing her movements. The bat lies beside you, off to the side, but you haven’t forgotten it. You’ve found your phone and have placed it in your lap so she doesn't step on it, but you don’t need it to know it’s ridiculous o’clock in the morning; one, because you’re the knight of fucking time, and two, because it was already stupid late when you came up here. Your stomach rumbles, making her raise an eyebrow at you.   
  
“So uh, what do you even eat up here?” you ask, dreading the answer.  
  
“Rats, mostly. I go hunting sometimes, but the humans _freak_ whenever they see me.”  
  
You can imagine. You twiddle your fingers against your thigh, thinking. Finally, you nod, hoping that Dirk’s already asleep.  
  
“Want some good old mac 'n cheese, then? It’s no grub loaf, but it ain’t rats either.”  
  
She grins at you and it’s only kind of disconcerting, now that her teeth, already daggerlike, are about twice as long and even more jagged. “Sure,” she purrs, slinking closer to you and butting up against your arm, almost goring you with her horns. “We should probably invite him though,” she says, like an afterthought. “He always did hate getting left out.”  
  
You freeze, finally remembering that you’re searching for _vermins_ , plural.  
  
“Who’s he?”  
  
.  
  
 _He_ is Karkat. Of course. Apparently if you’d decided to go to the basement first, that’s who you would have gotten an introduction to first.   
  
“Why don’t the two of you live closer together?” you ask her, creeping down the basement stairs. Somehow, they’re even creepier than the attics. “I mean, basement and attic, that’s like as far away as you can get.”  
  
Her lips twist into a grimace. “He stinks,” she says primly, and you don’t have time to puzzle that over, because the smell of sulphur that assaults you is so thick that you gag.  
  
“Terezi?” you hear him say, from far away, voice gravely and rough, like he’s smoked an entire carton of menthols.  
  
“Not quite,” you cough, and then, for the second time in one night, you’re getting tackled. This time, it’s into a staircase.  
  
.  
  
Karkat, at least, is mostly human. Troll. Whatever. He still walks on two legs, still has his nubby little horns, ears, toes, mouth, etc.  
  
He just reeks of sulphur, has a whip of a forked tail, pointier teeth, and brimstone red glowing eyes.  
  
They both grimace at the mac n cheese you serve them, but you’d kind of expected that. Trolls had issues with things that weren't meant.   
  
“So, what’s your story?” you ask, tapping your fingers on the table.  
  
Karkat glowers at you. That isn’t new either.  
  
“We beat the game and it promptly threw me into the human world. Past me was, as always, an idiot, and managed to get me lynched by the locals within two sweeps.”  
  
His tail swishes. Terezi bats at it. “Apparently clawing your way out of human hell makes you some shitty ass demon.”  
  
You take a bite of drippy, cheesy noodles, and hum.   
  
.  
  
The sun’s just climbing over the horizon when you stagger up to your room. You pause in the threshold, looking over your shoulder at where they’re both still crouched on the stairs.   
  
“You know…” you start. “I’ve got a kid here.”  
  
Karkat snorts. “We knew that genius. Could smell that bloodpusher from a mile away. He’s tiny, which means the meat’s still tender.”  
  
You didn’t want to know that. You didn’t. Your hands twitch for the bat that you’d left in the kitchen. Instead you draw your shades down your nose, fixing him with a serious glare. “No eating my bro,” you hiss at him. He blinks at you, lazy-like. Beside him Terezi chuckles.   
  
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Karkat shrugs. “Don’t eat humans.”  
  
You bite down on your lip, throwing a dreamy look at your bed. “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna go. You two are gonna have a nice little sleepover in my room with me, that way I can keep an eye on you.”  
  
“We’ve seen the way you sleep, Dave,” Terezi puts in, examining her claws. “I might not be _your_ Terezi, but I’ve got her memories. You wouldn’t wake up if we pailed right next to you.”  
  
The tips of your ears flush with blood when they exchange a heated look, remembering a time when that was actually a thing that happened, you waking up to them all sweaty and sated next to you, grinning at each other. You don’t look away from them.   
  
“Things are different now,” you say softly, because it’s the truth. You haven’t slept that way since Dirk was born—since you lost _them_ to a stupid game.  
  
Terezi is the first to cave, shrugging and padding past you. She jumps up onto your bed and for a minute you think she’s gonna start kneading your sheets, like a cat, but she just settles down on the far side, belly down. You look at Karkat, who gives one last long-suffering sigh and curses before sliding past you too. He climbs in next to her, settling into the curve of her body. You watch as one of her wings drapes over his body like a blanket. They’re both staring at you with almost identical glowing red eyes.  
  
You close the door behind you.  
  
.  
  
You wake up the next morning aware of three things. One, that you have a mouthful of wiry hair stuck between your teeth. Two, that there’s a heavy weight on your back, like your blanket has gained a hundred pounds over night. Three, there’s a mouth full of daggers clamped around the nape of your neck, all soft-like, just this faintest pressure that invokes memories of a time in your life where you actually had a sex life.   
  
The fourth thing you don’t become aware of immediately. You hum, shifting under that weight and smiling when the teeth clamp down just a little harder, a low rumble sounding from over your shoulder. Experimentally, you roll your hips back—your smile broadening into a grin as a clawed hand immediately grabs hold of your waist. The person behind you rocks into you, just barely, and you’re about to turn around and kiss whichever one of them it is breathless when a voice sounds from the door of your room.  
  
“Bro?”  
  
Your eyes snap open, memory restored and hard-on gone so fast that your dick kind of hurts a little.  
  
Dirk’s standing in the doorway, his shades crooked on his face and his hair an absolute rats nest. He’s wearing those stupid ironic pajama pants you’d gotten him when he was six. You notice that they’re getting a little small on him.   
  
“Hey there, little man,” you say softly, whispering in the hopes that neither Terezi or Karkat will wake up. Karkat’s the one behind you, the one you’d accidentally given a case of the stiff and wrigglies, Terezi somewhere behind him, and it’s her wings that are draped over you like one giant heavy blanket. “Why don’t you go wait for me downstairs and I’ll make us some pancakes?”  
  
Dirk cocks his adorable little head at you. “You don’t know how to make pancakes,” he says, and then, like an afterthought, “There’s a dragon in your bed.”  
  
You chuckle, slightly hysterically, and only stop when you feel Karkat shifting against your ass, his claws on your hip flexing, making the points dig in deep. You wince; fuck, you’re probably bleeding a little.  
  
“Halloween’s right around the corner,” you laugh, shuddering a little when Karkat’s mouth shifts away from your neck, nipping a line along your jaw instead. “It’s just a costume, buddy.”  
  
Your breath hitches on that last word, because if you’re not mistaken, Karkat’s wandering hand totally just slipped down your pants.  
  
Dirk’s still just staring at you blankly. “...It’s January, actually. But okay. Pancakes.”  
  
With one last weird look over his shoulder he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and not a moment too soon because Karkat is growling and rolling you onto your back, pinning you into the pillows. He blinks at you, sleepily, from his new position atop your lap and yawns, languidly stretching in a way that nudges his crotch against yours. You whimper, just a little, and he breaks off the yawn to smirk down at you.   
  
He rolls his hips again, this time with purpose, and your hands go to his hips like they’re magnetized.   
  
“Fuck,” you hiss, shivering all over when he drops down on top of you, hands on either side of your head, nipping at the neck that you’ve left wide open. His eyes glitter, red as the blood that had been matted all over the left side of his face the last time you’d seen him.   
  
“Mmm, yeah. Good idea, douchelord,” he purrs and starts yanking your boxers down your thighs with absolutely no warning. You yelp and grab for them, but nope, down around your ankles now. Karkat’s already got his own pants halfway off, his bulge leaving a shiny wet streak against your thigh.  
  
“Dude, my bro’s right downstairs,” you hiss, throwing your head back when his bulge latches onto your dick, curling around it like they’re old friends. They are, technically, but that's not the point.  
  
He gives you this wicked smirk that you can just barely remember from before. When he was younger, it had sat strangely on his face. Now—now that he’s an adult, all hard black leathery skin, taller than you by about two feet and a demon to boot—well, he’s not the angry little teenager you remember, not one bit. Looming over you like this, your fight or flight instincts are actually clambering at you to either get the fuck away fast or find yourself a weapon. It makes you realize just how big he is, something you’d totally failed at noticing the night before. A ragged chunk of fear claws its way up your spine, and you know exactly when he sees it in your eyes, because his own eyes light up like a jack o'lantern, and he leans down and licks a wet stripe up your jugular. You squirm.   
  
“I know,” he purrs. It takes you a minute to put two and two together and realize that he’s responding to what you said before, about your bro being downstairs. You’re a little distracted by the way his bulge is nudging up against your ass, wriggling just the tip past the tight ring of muscle. You groan when a little more slips in, hot and wet, and you don’t care that he’s self-lubricated, you haven’t gotten fucked like that in nine years, and his bulge has apparently gotten bigger along with him so fuck no. Do not pass go, do not take $200. You shove at him, just a bit, enough that he slips out of you.   
  
He growls, eyes flashing dangerously, but you just pull him down and kiss him fiercely—your hands sliding up into his hair as you surge together. His mouth is hot—way hotter than you remember and it tastes faintly of ashes, but when he slides his tongue out to trace the seams of your lips, it doesn’t seem to matter.  
  
“Make it quick,” you growl, leaning past him to grope at the drawer of your nightstand. You come back, triumphant, with a tube of lube.   
  
His whole face lights up and you laugh as he slides back a little, so you can get at your own asshole. You don’t give a fuck, you’ll go celibate if you have to, but you aren’t gonna let him at you with those claws. Apparently he remembers your view on this, because he just watches you, pupils wide and dark.   
  
Your hips are arching, three fingers deep when Terezi starts stirring on the other side of you. She blinks sightless eyes at you sleepily, nostrils flaring as her eyes widen in surprise.   
  
“Make yourself useful,” you hiss before she can say anything, twitching when Karkat slides a hand under you and gets a palmful of your ass. Just that one hand is enough to cup both of your cheeks, and you fail completely at pretending that that doesn’t turn you on. “Go lock the door.”  
  
Terezi narrows her eyes at you, but does what you’ve asked in the end, sliding off the bed, her tail thumping behind her, and okay, you forgot that was even a thing now. You gasp, wet and ragged when Karkat gets one of those big hands around your dick. It should make you feel inadequate that your dick vanishes completely from view in his grip, but it doesn’t—how could it? You’re seven fucking inches and thicker around than you used to be, you’re perfectly normal-sized. It’s not your dicks fault that he grew into a fucking behemoth.   
  
You barely feel it when Terezi jumps back onto the bed, too busy whining as Karkat gently tugs your fingers away. Gentle doesn’t go with this new look he’s got going on, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips when Terezi rubs up against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder as he effortless wraps a hand around your waist and tugs you back against him, your ass flush against his front. You feel it when his bulge rubs wetly between your cheeks, pressing into you so slow that you whimper until Terezi takes pity on you, grabbing hold of your hips and jerking you back onto Karkat’s bulge in one smooth motion.  
  
“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ,” you chant, biting down onto your fist as they purr at you. He’s so much fucking bigger now—too much bigger—feels like he’s splitting you open. You whine and wish it weren’t such a pained sound.   
  
“Shoosh,” Karkat says, papping your face almost blindly. He’s gone a little cross-eyed trying to still his bulge inside you, so it’s Terezi who leans forward and licks the tears from your cheeks.   
  
“You’re so pretty like this, coolkid,” she purrs, nipping at your throat. You try to keep your eyes open, squinting at her as she edges around Karkat’s body and lays down against your side. From your position, you can just barely see her bulge, wet and twisting, smearing blue-green fluid against the insides of her thighs. It’s weird, because she’s built differently, her very _bones_ different, but that bulge is still just the way you remember it. You want to lean over and kiss it.  
  
“Missed seeing you like this,” she murmurs against your throat as Karkat gives the first, cautious jerk of his hips. You sob, shaking as she wraps her arms around you and kisses you, all teeth and tongue. Her bulge, pressed up against your thigh (and of course hers is bigger too, why wouldn’t it be when she herself would be towering over you if she walked on two legs still) is still cool, but her mouth is weirdly hot, like Karkat’s. She growls, thrusting her tongue into your mouth as Karkat groans and finally gives up the fight, his bulge lashing up against your insides now that he’s not holding it back.   
  
“We _missed_ this. You’ve always been so pretty when you’re absolutely wrecked. Answer me this riddle, coolkid—if I sat on your face right now, would you choke on my bulge? Would you be my bucket when I come—imagine that, something we never did—you can be both of our buckets.”  
  
Her voice trails off with a smooth purr and you’re already nodding helplessly, almost frantic before she’s even done talking. Fuck, you missed them. She cackles at you, wings shifting against her back as she carefully maneuvers herself around, until her bulge is prodding curiously against your lips. You let your jaw relax, let your mouth fall open, and try not to choke when her bulge wriggles its way down your throat.  
  
You remember this, you do. You have to remember this—breathe through a nose clogged with snot and tears, relax your throat, don’t tense your jaw. You swallow around her, your dick twitching when she moans, long and loud.  
  
“Quiet,” Karkat hisses raggedly, hips moving in gentle circles against yours. His nook is pressed up against your ass and you can feel it, sopping and wet, leaving your backside dripping with bright red fluid. Fuck everything, you’re gonna have to toss these sheets when you’re done. “His kid’s right below us.”  
  
You tighten up at that, and they both groan in unison as your muscles contract.   
  
“Fuck, Dave,” Karkat hisses, hands scrabbling at your waist until he’s got his hand on your dick again. You moan, hips arching as you swallow around Terezi. He can’t jack you off with his whole hand, he’s too big for that, just makes a tight tunnel out of his fist that you can fuck up into, keening in the back of your throat because you’re so fucking full, Terezi stuffed down your throat and your asshole stretching around the thick length of him, and it’s so fucking good that your brain more or less shuts down, leaving you with the most basic functions. Suck, swallow, clench, keen, rock down onto him, rock up into his fist, and you’re so fucking over sensitive right now that it’s not funny, you almost can’t handle it.   
  
You come before either of them, back arching as you come all over his fist, so hard that you see stars.   
  
They don't stop to let you recover, both picking up the pace as you’re coming down from your orgasm, Karkat’s bulge moving hot and heavy inside of you, Terezi fucking your face with enthusiasm, her nook slip-sliding against your chin. You blink up at the ceiling and manage to get a hold of your brain long enough to slide three fingers into her dripping nook, crooking them up against her seedflap. She convulses over you, keening so loudly that Karkat has to lean forward (pushing him deeper into you, yay, you) and clamp his hand around her mouth.  
  
It’s almost enough to make you ready for a round two, but nope, you aren’t sixteen anymore, your dick is done and out for the count for at least twenty to thirty minutes, possibly more.  
  
When they do come, it’s so eerily in unison that your brain stutters, not even registering the fact that there’s cool liquid gushing down the back of your throat. You breathe in sharply through your nose, not protesting, because you remember how they used to come—literally buckets—and one wrong move and you’re going to drown yourself in jizz.   
  
In the end, Terezi pulls out before that can happen, but there’s still enough that your stomach feels stupidly full like you just chugged four glasses of water in under ten minutes, and you know that you’re gonna feel a little sloshy when you stand up. She keeps coming even after she’s out, her nook and bulge gushing green-blue liquid all down your front. Karkat’s cursing, filling you up so thoroughly back there that you can feel it spilling out around him, even though there shouldn’t be any room left between him and you.  
  
What feels like an eternity later, they finally collapse on you, purring. Karkat hasn’t pulled out yet and Terezi’s kind of smothering you with her boobs, so you clench down tight around Karkat, hear his gasp turn into a whimper when he decides to take the hint and yank himself out, leaving even more genetic material to gush all over your bed. You then turn to Terezi, pinching the spot where her shoulderblade meets her wing; she sighs once before rolling off of you.   
  
“That was…” Karkat starts, trailing off to pant for breath.   
  
Terezi cackles, pressing sloppy kisses against your shoulderblade. “Spectacular!” she finishes for him, and when you blink down at your thighs, Karkat’s spindly forked tail is kind of wrapped around her giant one. It’s stupidly endearing.  
  
You also look like a cross between christmas gone wrong and some weird artsy massacre, because you are literally streaked from head to toe in red and green.  
  
You really hope your shampoo and shit is already in your bathroom, because there is no way you’re going downstairs like this.  
  
.  
  
Dirk blinks at your wet hair from where he’s standing in front of the stove, burning pancakes. Your heart clenches up at the sight of it and you want to fucking coo, because he’s got your kiss the cook apron on over his ironic orange PJs and it's the cutest thing you ever did see.   
  
“That was a lot longer than ten minutes,” is all he says, turning back to the pancakes. God, you hope it isn’t Betty Crocker. You’d hate to feel obligated to shit all over the pancakes your little brother has been slaving over.   
  
“Did I promise it would take ten minutes?” you ask, one eyebrow arched, poker face wavering.   
  
“...No.”  
  
“Well, there you go then,” you say, beaming in a way that you know freaks him right the hell out. His lips twist as he flips a pancake violently.   
  
“Why are you limping?” he asks as you—yes, _limp_ —your way over to the dining room table. You wince a little when you slide into your seat. “Did the dragon lady hurt you?”  
  
“What dragon lady?” you ask distractedly, reaching for the apple juice that Dirk’s laid out on the table, two glasses next to it. He gives you this look, one that just screams, _calling your bullshit._  
  
“The one who didn’t remember Halloween was two and a half months ago,” he says dryly, and seriously, eight year olds should not be able to sound that judgmental. Suddenly you’re starting to understand why Rose had told you that the question phase would end you.  
  
“Oh,” you say, dumbly. He takes your moment of stupification as permission to slide three moderately singed pancakes onto your plate. He hands you a fork and doesn’t look away until you drown them in syrup and take a bite. You hum happily and take another bite.  
  
“So, are they coming down for breakfast?” Dirk asks as he wanders back over to the skillet. “I can make enough for all of us.”  
  
“Where’d we even get pancake mix?” you mutter, mouth full of deliciousness.   
  
“Rose left it at our old house the last time she was over. Apparently we cannot survive on takeout forever.” He says it like he’s quoting her directly. He probably is.  
  
When you left them, they were both bickering over the temperature of the water, fighting for control of the shower nozzle. You think of them down here, sitting around a table with you and Dirk, and are caught off guard by how the image makes you go all soft and glowy with affection. But then you’d have to explain their appearances.  
  
“I’m not stupid, Bro,” he tells you, suddenly, turning to throw you a look over his shoulder. “I know that wasn’t a costume.”  
  
You blink at him, and in the end, you don’t have to say anything, because he’s loudly calling, “I can see you two, you know.”  
  
You turn around to look out the door leading to the staircase and sure enough, there are Karkat and Terezi, trying to creep by without either of you noticing. Their hackles are up, but there’s a guilty slump to their shoulders. You sigh.   
  
“Jig’s up, c’mon in,” you mutter, waving them in.  
  
They slink in, tails literally between their legs, and take the seats on either side of you. Terezi seems to have a bit of difficulty getting into a comfortable position, but eventually she pulls her legs up so she can sit on her haunches, tail tucked off to the side so it’s between you and her and not stuck under her butt.  
  
Dirk stares at them curiously. “What are you?” he asks. He’s looking at them the same way he looks at his robots, like he wants to pull them apart and see how they tick.  
  
“Dragon,” Terezi says, nose twitching. Her hair’s still wet, and she’s wearing one of your bigger shirts like a dress, which you’re thankful for, because this conversation would have been a lot more awkward if she was naked. “Kind of.”  
  
“Demon,” Karkat shrugs, shoulders stiff.  
  
“Huh,” says Dirk. You all stare at each other for another long minute before he just shrugs and goes back to his pancakes.  
  
.  
  
It should be weird, after that, having them sleeping in your bed at night and showering with you in the morning. You keep thinking that it will be, coming home from work to see Terezi curled up like a very large cat on the couch next to Dirk, Karkat sitting cross-legged on the floor below them, all three focused on the television.   
  
You start getting takeout for four instead of two and the nice lady at the Chinese place down the street gives you this little eyebrow waggle and a grin that you don’t think you’ll ever forget.  
  
One day, you wake up alone in bed, and are disoriented as you stagger down the stairs, only to see Terezi, Karkat, and Dirk recreating cantown in your living room. It makes your chest tighten up, emotion swelling your throat like you’ve swallowed a golf ball, and you have to sit down rapidly so you don’t start swooning.  
  
They can’t leave the house, so you still go to shit like the Oscars and the Grammys by your lonesome, or occasionally, with Rose.  
  
She remarks on it once, demurely stepping into your side for a picture with Pierce Brosnan or one of those other fucks. She smiles, black lips stretching wide as the camera blinds you, and purrs into your ear, “You should cover up your love bites better, brother mine, people will talk.”  
  
“People always talk,” you whisper back, and it’s that picture that’s on the page of every gossip site the next morning, your heads turned together, barely a breath apart, a giant hickey bared for the world to see.  
  
“So who are they?” she asks later that night, sitting regally next to a fountain that flashes different colors in time to Bohemian Rhapsody.   
  
“What makes you think it’s a they?” you ask, genuinely curious.   
  
She smiles at you, using two black-tipped fingers to yank your collar down—baring the hickey on the other side of your neck, like matched sets. “The circumferences are different. These marks weren’t made by the same person. So…” she trails off, her teeth a flash of white in the dark.  
  
You bite your lip, squirming a little. You’ve always been an open book to her, but you don’t know if you want to let her have this secret.  
  
“I found them,” you finally confess. Her eyes go wide, and this is one of the reasons you love your sister, because she needs no clarification to know who you’re talking about. The three of you weren’t a secret before, but you were quieter about it than her and Kanaya were, choosing to be intimate in the bedroom instead of out and about around the asteroid. “They’re… different, but it’s them.”  
  
She dissolves into happy giggles, setting a hand on your thigh to keep herself from doubling over.  
  
“Different how?” she asks, eyes sparkling.   
  
Words fail you—completely, utterly, but you’re pretty sure your soft look reassures her that it’s not exactly in a bad way.  
  
“I’ll have to show you sometime,” you say instead, threading your fingers together with hers when she reaches out for your hand. “You’ll have to bring Roxy over. We’ll make a party out of it.”  
  
.  
  
Rose does eventually come over, toting a hyperactive Roxy who bounces into the foyer on the tips of her toes, like she’s playing at ballerina. She stops and stares, skidding a little before dropping back onto her heels, because Dirk is poking at robot parts in the middle of the room, Terezi protectively curled around him, her tail a great curving arc. She’s napping, you’re pretty sure, but every once in awhile she’ll blink her eyes open sleepily, yawn sleepily, and ask Dirk what he’s doing.  
  
Karkat’s snuggled up next to you on the couch, head on your shoulder, and he just kind of blinks confusedly at Roxy. “Little Roxy,” he murmurs, smiling faintly in recognition. You hadn’t spent much time with the alpha kids before the end battle, but clearly he remembers her.  
  
Rose, finally catching up with her daughter, stops at Roxy’s side. She’s wearing this terribly posh violet getup, violet shades obscuring her eyes. She must have gotten a haircut, because her bob is immaculate and that combined with her outfit makes her look like she’s cut straight out a 1920’s magazine.  
  
“Karkat,” she says warmly, her hand curling on her daughter’s shoulder. Roxy shoots a curious look from them to Rose, tugging on the hem of her mom’s coat.  
  
“Mom, Dirk’s playing with a dragon,” she whispers. Since she’s eight, it’s not much of a whisper. Rose smiles and Karkat flinches a little against you, but you don’t have to worry, because the next thing out of her mouth is: “Why can’t I have a dragon?”   
  
“This is a special case, darling,” Rose goes, crouching down next to Roxy. “Dragons don’t usually exist.”  
  
“Well, I want Dirk’s then,” she says and Dirk—Dirk who doesn’t show emotion unless he absolutely has to, drops whatever he’s holding and grabs onto Terezi’s tail, holding it possessively to his chest.  
  
“Nope,” he says. “Bro’s dragon, so she’s mine too.”  
  
Terezi, at this point, has mostly woken up. She sniffs sleepily in Rose’s direction, her nose crinkling up adorably. “Miss Plumberry?” she asks, tilting her head as her nostrils flare again. “You smell like cotton candy.”  
  
Rose chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Terezi. This is my daughter, Roxy.”  
  
Terezi sneezes once, then grins. “Yes, I remember now.”  
  
Karkat uncurls from you, pushing himself to unsteady feet. “I can make some coffee,” he offers, and then remembering, “I think we might have some tea tucked away somewhere, too.”  
  
“Thank you, Karkat. That would be lovely.”  
  
Once you’ve all sat down with various beverages, Dirk and Roxy running around the house somewhere (Roxy had wanted to play hide and seek. You’re not entirely sure how she got Dirk to agree to it.) Rose quirks an eyebrow at the three of you, setting her glasses down on the table so the steam from her tea doesn’t fog them up.  
  
“So?” she asks around a smile. “I’m afraid my dear brother couldn’t give me the full story the other night, would someone like to enlighten me? I no longer have my powers, sadly, or I wouldn’t have to ask.”  
  
Karkat and Terezi both regale her with their stories, which you’ve heard already, so you spend your time idly toying with one of Terezi’s wings.   
  
“And then Dave moved in and here we are,” Terezi finishes, her grin wide and bright.   
  
“Well, at any rate, I’m glad you’ve found each other,” Rose murmurs into her teacup. Your whole chest lights up in sympathy. It hadn’t occurred to you that she might have hoped they could tell her where Kanaya was.  
  
You’ve outgrown awkward—outgrew it around the time that the two of you made Roxy and Dirk, but it still feels strange to reach over and pat her hand. She smiles back at you though, wrapping her fingers around yours and squeezing.  
  
“How long are you here for?” you ask her, because having moved or not, you still live in California. The flight over can’t have been fun.  
  
“Two days,” she sighs tiredly, extricating her fingers and taking another sip of her tea. “My publisher wanted me to sign a contract in blood that it would only be for the night, but I refused.”  
  
Karkat nods, looking thoughtful. “We can cook for you,” he offers, sounding unsure. “We aren’t great at it yet, but Terezi and I are much better at it than Dave.”  
  
She laughs warmly, smiling around the edge of her cup. “You can help me cook,” she compromises. “You’re still mostly carnivorous, of course?”  
  
Karkat nods. “We’re fond of sweets too.”  
  
“Noted,” Rose murmurs, pushing herself back from the table. “Would the two of you mind watching the children while Dave and I run to the store?”   
  
.  
  
Dinner is an interesting affair.  
  
As is the day after, and the one after that. You and Rose take the kids to the zoo, and only get harassed by the paparazzi for the first half of it. When you return, you find Terezi buried inside of Karkat, him whimpering into the pillow as she giggles, her teeth clamped around his neck. You whimper and both of their eyes find you seconds before they come.  
  
“He looks so different,” Rose says one night, side-eying Karkat. He’s got a tiara perched atop his horns and is daintily sipping from a teacup with Roxy. It’s probably one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen.  
  
“Him?” you ask incredulously. She flaps her hand at you, dismissively.   
  
“Terezi’s strange in an altogether different way. Karkat… Well, I never thought I’d see one of the trolls grow into adulthood.”  
  
You nod, because yeah, you can kind of understand that. Terezi’s half dragon, she’s got that excuse goin’ for her. Karkat’s just grown up—and sure, he’s got the demon thing going for him, but the towering height and the pitch blackness of his skin—that’s all troll. It’s off putting.  
  
Rose smiles at them—at Roxy and Karkat having a tea party and at Terezi, who’s talking robot justice of something with Dirk. It’s cozy. It feels like home—like the happy ending you never thought you’d get.  
  
You just wish that you could pause this moment, that you still had your time powers—that they even worked like that—because you never want this to end.  
  
.  
  
As Rose is leaving, Roxy in tow, she pauses on the doorstep while Roxy sprints ahead.   
  
“You know this can’t last,” she says, a frown between her eyes.  
  
You know. Jesus, do you know. You know the destiny that this stupid game has laid out before you, know the part you have to play. Rose may not have her visions anymore, but when you were both young, she’d had screaming nightmares, residual wonky seer powers in her bones. Those nightmares were enough, her gasping awake next to you when the two of you were sixteen, and whispering raggedly, like her voice has been torn out of her, “I saw us die, Dave.”  
  
You remember—you know your role. You’ll get your kids into the game that ripped the two of you apart and then you’ll die at the hands of fish hitler. That’s how it’s gonna work, that’s how it was always gonna be. You don’t know how Karkat and Terezi plays into things, but you can’t help remembering the Condesce in your foyer, telling you not to get attached, that _they weren’t who you thought they were_.  
  
You don’t care. You don’t. When you wake up at night between them, Terezi’s wings draped over you like the biggest security blanket ever and Karkat’s teeth clamped down on your shoulder, you can’t allow yourself to consider that. Because then, it won’t matter. It’ll destroy you.  
  
But maybe that too, was always destined to happen.  
  
You’re the knight of time and have seen yourself dead so many times that it doesn’t even phase you anymore. You’ve been destroyed time and time again; you aren’t gonna let the future scare you. Not yet, anyway.  
  
“I know,” you sigh, sparing a glance over your shoulder to where Terezi and Karkat are watching you curiously. “But if it was Kanaya, would you be able to resist just a couple years? Even knowing that it was going to go to shit?”  
  
She gives you a sad smile. You already know her answer.   
  
She leans forward, pressing a tacky, lipstick smeared kiss to your cheek, hand coming up to cradle your head. “Enjoy it while it lasts, brother mine,” she whispers.  
  
Then she’s gone.  
  
You watch her limo until it fades from view and even after, you keep watching. The sun shifts on the horizon, staining the world a soft pink, a burnt orange glow shining down on you. You aren’t gonna cry. You have time enough to do that. Dirk’s only eight. You have _time_.  
  
Something tugs on your shirtsleeve and when you turn to look, it’s Dirk, peering up at you. You can see a shadow of his eyes past the shades and can almost pretend that they’re concerned.   
  
“Come on,” he goes. “TZ wants to try to make meatloaf for dinner.”  
  
You smile at him, your heart crushed to dust beneath your ribcage with affection and dread both.   
  
_They ain't who you think they are, buoy. Don’t get attached._  
  
You ruffle your little bro’s hair and turn with him, to where Terezi and Karkat are waiting for you.  
  
You’ll take your chances with them, you think.   
  
You step over the threshold, and close the door behind you.  
  
  



End file.
